


His Due

by Fweeble



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M, Please take the warnings seriously, Unbeta'd, is this TsukiyamaKaneki? I cannot tell, rated for Tsukiyama Shuu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fweeble/pseuds/Fweeble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are all pleasures that are owed to Tsukiyama. He has sacrificed so much, laid waste to his sanctuary, lead comrades to their deaths, faced loss of limb and life in order to nurture and protect Kaneki. He has fasted and partaken of food unworthy of his attentions –all so he can enjoy his due when it has reached its peak flavor.</p><p>So why…</p><p>Why is it that a mere human reaps his reward?</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Due

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like writing this involved lots of playful dancing across the line between ‘is this TsukiyamaKaneki or is it not?’ and mostly, I don’t think it is but it can definitely be viewed as such if one has the mind to. Tsukiyama’s portrayal was loosely based off eyepatch-centipede's headcanon on tumblr, and I’m afraid I failed to do it justice.
> 
> The headcanon can be found here: http://eyepatch-centipede.tumblr.com/post/94617304917/im-really-bad-at-understanding-characters-so-i-wanted

Life and death; satiation and hunger –these are the fine lines ghouls tread upon during their lifetime. The weak, the uncultured, have no choice but to squabble over remains, scavengers over festering carrion. The strong, the refined –they have the choice, they opportunity, the power to realize the potential; they can sample exquisite delights, choose the choicest portions, discover the true enlightenment behind real inspiration.

Tsukiyama Shuu wields power, prestige, and fortune; he is blessed with assets beyond what common ghouls can understand and he revels in his privilege, explores gustatory delights with single minded delight and fervor.  He seeks greater and greater pleasure, the finest, most exquisite flavors.  
  
He knows he’s found it with Kaneki Ken.

He can smell it; the delicate nuances, the complex flavors mingling –oh, how it would  _taste_ , to experience that exotic, heady smell into a ghoul’s most important sense: taste. Tsukiyama cannot repress the delighted shiver that courses through him whenever he entertains the thought. The texture of Kaneki’s flesh when he first bites down –strong and sinewy, a contrast to the often more tender fare that often graced the Ghoul Restaurant. It would lack the marbled fat that many ghoul connoisseurs preferred, but the thrill of biting into a meal that was powerful, it only flavors the meat further than any pallid white fat can ever bring.   
  
What flavors will he find when he finally takes part of the meal he has so gently and carefully cultivated? Would the sweet, human flavor be a delicate highlight or a deep, burnished undertone to the somewhat bitter, overpowering nature of ghoul flesh? How will Kaneki’s right eye accent the taste of his left kakugan? Will the sweet flavors burst across his tongue like a popped balloon when he swallows pops them in, whole? Or should he have them cut and sautéed, to bring out the smokier undertones of the kakugan?

These are all pleasures that are owed to Tsukiyama. He has sacrificed so much, laid waste to his sanctuary, lead comrades to their deaths, faced  loss of limb and life in order to nurture and protect Kaneki. He has fasted and partaken of food unworthy of his attentions –all so he can enjoy his due when it has reached its peak flavor.  
  
So why…

 _Why_  is it that a mere  _human_  reaps his reward?

He sits and seethes, takes delicate sips of his expresso and regards the blonde filth that has managed to plaster itself to Kaneki, as if he  _belonged_.   
  
What has the blonde ever done for Kaneki? What has he ever given Kaneki? What has he ever forfeited for Kaneki?  
  
And yet the human  _smells_  of Kaneki, it pours from his pores as natural as dew on morning grass and its mere presence blasphemes upon all the hard work Tsukiyama has invested. If anyone should be close enough to taste Kaneki, to have that alluring and seductive scent bury itself deep under his skin until it becomes a part of him –it should be Tsukiyama. It should be  _him_.   
  
Kaneki never strays far from his human; always a familiar hand on the small of the human’s back, gently guiding him; comforting fingers linked together; a calming hand on a bent knee.

Kaneki never watches movies with Tsukiyama, intertwined limbs so haphazardly flung that it is a difficulty to tell where one man begins and the ends –he is never even invited. Kaneki never strolls with Tsukiyama through parks, shielded under the umbrella of green leaves from the unforgiving Tokyo sun –he is left behind in coffee shops, in hospitals, in the streets. Kaneki never regards Tsukiyama with warm fondness, eyes such a glorious shade of sparkling slate grey –Kaneki always regards him with suspicion, eyes a chilling shade of pewter.

But Kaneki  _does_  with the human, and it’s so unfair it’s  _galling_.   
  
Tsukiyama has never allowed sleights to pass unpaid.  
  
The human begs pardon citing a shift at the CCG, kisses Kaneki on the cheek (and Tsukiyama contains his hiss, tastes his own blood, putrid in his mouth), waves enthusiastically by the door for a good minute, shouting goodbyes like the ill-bred lout he is, and then, finally, blessedly, is gone.  
  
“Kaneki-kun,” Tsukiyama greets pleasantly, daubing his lips of lingering coffee as he stands, “would you honor me with a game of squash? It has been too long since we last had a match.”  
  
“No,” Kaneki says, gaze still locked on closed the door, looking wistful and just shy of bereft, “I have other plans, Tsukiyama.”   
  
“I understand,” he says, sliding gracefully between Kaneki and the door, “Sometime soon, then? It has been so lonely without you, Kaneki-kun, I fear I may waste away without your attentions.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Kaneki replies, brows furrowed as his view is blocked.  
  
Tsukiyama has never allowed sleights.

\---  
  
“You took what was mine,” he says harshly, breathing erratic, heavy. He feels the humiliation of this human usurping his place by Kaneki’s side, of winning what was rightfully his and feels the fires of righteous retribution lick at his sides as it springs forth, unbidden and unchecked from deep in his gut. “Kaneki Ken is  _mine_ ; I will not anyone else have him.”

He has staked his claim long ago and he has the right of any ghoul to defend his territory, to use whatever means to reclaim what belongs to him.   
  
Tsukiyama shreds –he pulls at bright cloth until seams burst and buttons pop, discards the clothing the human dares to wear; the garments soaked with the smell of Kaneki – _his_. “How dare you, how dare you,  _how dare you_ ,” he mutters. How dare the human; how dare he transgress so? He works until the final cloth gives and all there is nothing left to cover the human’s torso –and that’s when he sees it.

There, just above the human’s left hipbone, peeking out from the waist of well washed jeans is the unmistakable mark of Kaneki’s hand, the dark purpling just beginning to fade, sickly chartreuse tickling the edges of the bruise.   
  
“Mine,” Tsukiyama snarls, tears open the denim and pulls down the underclothes until there is no protecting the human’s modesty and leans down to cover that mark. He takes a large bite; feels the human trickle down his jaw, warm and sticky, and takes another bite. With one hand, he pushes the human’s muffled screams of pain into the altar, curses his lack of preparation when it came to gagging the man, and seeks to eradicate all traces of the betrayal. He excises Kaneki’s mark from the human until he feels the scrape of his teeth against bone and he is forced to pull back.  
  
 _‘Calmato, calmato, calmato,’_  Tsukiyama reminds himself,  _‘Calmato, you cannot ruin your meal before he arrives.’  
_  
There are tears bright in the human’s brown eyes and Tsukiyama regards him cooly, unable to sympathize.  _‘If only you had left what belonged to me alone,’_  he thinks, licking the last traces of blood from his fingers as the other hand pets blonde hair with the other, “Hush now, Kaneki-kun will be here soon. And then, the feast can finally begin.”

Time passes, and Tsukiyama begins to worry the human will perish before Kaneki arrives when the church doors burst open and there Kaneki stands, wreathed in moonlight.  
  
"Kaneki-kun," Tsukiyama smiles, heart bursting with anticipation, glee, "You have finally arrived. I had feared our appetizer wouldn't last. Come, let us begin the feast."  
  
The moon lends its beauty to Kaneki, hangs a crown of silver upon his head, and the ghoul looks magnificent, like an avenging god, the personification of divine retribution, and Tsukiyama's heart stutters. He covers his face, tries to reign in his speeding heart, to stem the flow of want.  
  
Calmato, calmato, calmato.  
  
"Tsukiyama, I am not here to play your games," Kaneki warns, cracking his knuckles, kakugan flaring. And Tsukiyama knows Kaneki can smell it, the sweet, sweet smell of human blood, warm and pulsing, "Give me Hide. Now."  
  
"I play no games, Kaneki-kun," Tsukiyama lilts, spreading arms wide, "I want what I have always wated --the greatest of feasts. I yearn for the greatest of pleasures; I have waited as patiently as I could, safeguarded you until your flavor matured and deepened --all so I could enjoy the ultimate culinary experience. Kaneki-kun, I wish to feast upon you as you sate your own hunger."  
  
He pats the altar expectantly, "Come, Kaneki-kun. The human will not stay fresh forever. Let us reach culinary heights heretofore unknown."  
  
Kaneki glides down the pews to the altar, places a gentle hand on one pallid, clammy cheek, murmurs, "It's okay Hide, we're leaving," as he presses discarded clothing against the mess of dark red welling from the human. The human smiles weakly when the gag, one of Tsukiyama's spare handkerchiefs, is removed, and leans heavily into Kaneki as he assures with a cracking voice, "I'm fine." With such tenderness, Kaneki gathers the human into his arms, one hand pillowing the sweaty blonde head.  
  
“ _Arrêtez_!  _Arrêtez_! What are you doing, Kaneki-kun?!”  
  
He is prepared to fight Kaneki if he must, feels the comforting weight of his kagune wrap and settle around his arm. He will have what is rightfully his; his due. "You won't be leaving, Kaneki-kun, not until I have what is owed to me."  
  
Long, red tendril burst from Kaneki, his kagune poised, elegant, as he walks away, "There is nothing to between us, Tsukiyama."  
  
"Come back! Come back, Kaneki-kun!" Tsukiyama cries as he feels grief well up within him, "I will not let you leave, Kaneki-kun! Why can't you see, you are mine. Mine, mine, mine. Mine to eat, to taste. Kaneki-kun!"  
  
"Yomo," he hears Kaneki say, voice for away and unattainable like the mocking moon, "I need you to come pick me and Hide up. We're at the church..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Kaneki-kun... don't leave me."


End file.
